With Words Unspoken
by PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: "Grief starts to become indulgent, and it doesn't serve anyone, and it's painful. But if you transform it into remembrance, then you're magnifying the person you lost and also giving something of that person to other people, so they can experience something of that person." In the aftermath of unspeakable tragedy, we all find our own way to deal with the pain. Formerly One shots.
1. All Our Light That Shines Strong

**What I own: A random season of House on DVD, 34 red lipsticks and an impertinent Siamese Cat.**

**What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine.**

**Author's Note: So, this happened. I know. Don't hate me, okay? This was originally a series of drabbles that was done for the FanFicaholics Anon group over on FB that just... wouldn't leave me alone. So I made it a for real series. I wasn't gonna go there but I totally did. I know. I blame Peter Mooney and that face. Who gave him the right? ****I promise I'm not jumping off the McSwarek ship, Girl Scouts honor. ****I know this is vague, and also un-beta'd but that is kind of my MO… If you have read any of my other stories, you know that. I Anyway, I hope you enjoy. The song, because that is how I do, is 'Half-Truism' by The Offspring. Turn it up real loud while you read, it will make more sense, I think. Reviews will be rewarded with babble in PMs and twitter AS WELL AS sneak peaks of the story of your choice cause I know not all my lovely readers whom I love will get down with this little tale. Oh and they make me smile like Missy and write faster. So there is that. Thank's y'all for just being awesome. **

The ground was sopping and the heavy, damp scent of wet moss overwhelmed my senses. Watery sunlight barely filtered through the trees, their bare branches reaching up towards the grey sky.

My jeans were wet, the mud from beneath my knees soaking through the heavy denim in an instant. My flannel shirt did little to shelter the bitter wind that caught my hair, whipping the dark strands in front of my face. It didn't do much, blocking my already cloudy vision, the icy blast causing tears to spill down my cheeks.

At least that is what I told myself. It was easier to lie than face the truth sometimes. If you could believe the lie, the pretty, easy words all wrapped up in a nice bow, then you didn't have to deal with the truth.

That was my area of expertise. Believing in people, hoping for the best. I couldn't help it, it was who I was, who I had always been but now? Today? I wanted nothing less. I didn't want hope, I didn't want to think that things could be better. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Not again. Not after this.

The sun disappeared behind the angry green-grey clouds overhead and a rumble of thunder overhead signaled the impending storm only seconds before the first icy raindrop fell, mingling with the salty tears on my cheek before falling to the already wet ground.

That was all the warning there was, just the one drop before the sky opened up, frigid droplets falling in sheets through the trees, soaking me to the bone in a blink. My hair was plastered to my cheeks and neck, my boot slipped as I stood, and I stumbled forward, catching myself against a tree, the rough bark scratching against my bare palm.

I glanced down at my hand, watched in almost macabre fascination as the blood that seeped from the shallow cuts mingled with the rain water, fading to a pale pink before I turned my palm over and shook it. I didn't want to see that, not now. Not today. The bright flashes of red brought everything back, all of the images that I tried so hard to fight.

The sob welled up before I could stop it, seeming to echo through the deserted forest. It was the first time I'd cried since I saw him fall, the man I had come to look at as a brother, falling at the hands of a friend and the wrong end of a gun. That shot echoed endlessly in my ears as I rethought every moment, every decision, every second. I couldn't solve the problem, couldn't fix it, not this time.

I heard a twig snap behind me and froze, my spine straightening instinctively as I whirled around, coming face to face with my partner. His eyes were red and, despite the rain, I could tell he had been crying as well.

He didn't say anything, nor did I, not in those moments. There wasn't anything that either of us could say that would make it better, nothing that could soothe the pain that seemed so endless, every day that passed pulled off the tender scab that had somehow formed and exposed the wound to the elements.

"It's ashes to ashes again." It was all I could think of, the words from the funeral still echoing in my ears, he knew, he would understand. A small nod was all it took and I was in his arms, tears falling freely, yet again. It was supposed to get easier, right? A hand on my back and whispered words of condolence, somehow made it manageable, if not easier. It was enough to get through the day at least. And sometimes that was enough, sometimes that was all that you had.


	2. For Everything A Reason

**What I own: A lip gloss that perfectly matches my hair, a vast collection of burned out candles and more nail polish than one woman should. **

**What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine.**

**Author's Note: This was written as an entry for the FanFicaholics Anon July drabble challenge but SURPRISE, it became a series. It has nothing to do with any of my current WIPs but I saw the prompt and couldn't get it out of my head. I know it is vague, that is kind of my MO… I will explain eventually, promise. This is canon, in a sense that it isn't horribly not but it does NOT actually follow the season. Not beta'd because I am impatient. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. The song, because that is how I do, is 'For Everything A Reason' by Carina Round. Turn it up real loud while you read, it will make more sense, I think. Reviews are hoarded and brought out to make me smile on bad days. Oh, they are also rewarded with sneek peaks of the fic of your choosing cause I know this doesn't float everybody's boat. Thanks for reading y'all. Feel free to ask any questions here or on twitter, I like to answer them. **

There is always that moment first thing in the morning. That fleeting one where things are still bright and clear, the possibilities endless and untarnished, the joy and anticipation of what may be still coursing through your mind. It was always my favorite time of day as long as I could remember: The sunlight slanted in through the curtains, yellow swiss dot were the first ones I could remember, gradually to deep green and then blue sheers as I got older. This morning the golden rays filtered through the blinds, highlighting the dust motes that danced in the quiet post-dawn.

This morning was no different, not that I remembered. The same little tingle, that thrill of 'what if' and 'maybe' as I opened my eyes and just lay for a moment, a small smile tugging at my lips. I couldn't help it, it was almost intrinsic. The rich scent of cinnamon spiked coffee drifted through the air, teasing my nose and sending the last vestiges of sleep from my mind and I sent up an absent thank you to the genius that invented programmable coffee pots.

It all started the same, everything was the way it should be until that moment: Familiar. Safe. Secure. Right. Until it wasn't anymore. That deafening moment when everything changed and nothing was right again.

It happened so fast, in less than the blink of an eye. The sound was deafening, louder than any gunshot I'd heard before. I didn't see the flash, at least I don't think I did. I didn't remember. It was fuzzy, like looking through a frosted window and trying to make out the individual snowflakes.

I remembered the red though, thick and viscous, spreading far, FAR too fast on the cracked asphalt. The coppery scent hung in the air, teasing my nose and threatening to cause the meager contents of my stomach to make a reappearance. I knew why Lady Macbeth was so haunted, it still clung to my fingers, darkening around the edges of my nails and causing my head to swim.

Then there were the voices. The screams, cries, wails. Whatever. They still rang in my ears. Apologies were shouted, pleaded for between the gasps and sobs of horror and pain.

It was over in a moment but that moment was an infinity from where we stood. Doing this job, you get good at compartmentalizing, at separating what you see with who you are. But this, today? Watching as one of my friends lay on the cracked pavement, eyes unseeing as a white sheet was draped over navy blue and another moving, stone faced and blank eyed as he was cuffed and placed in the back of a squad car, I couldn't separate that from who I was. It wasn't a job anymore. It was real. It was life. It was death.

Statements were given, calls were made. I'd insisted on being there to tell his parents, we had met a few times before and I would never forget the look on his mother's face. The sheer devastation as she was told her son was gone, that she had now outlived both of her children. It would haunt me for the rest of my life.

"My mom, before she died, used to say 'for everything a reason'." The voice cut through my thoughts, ringing through the empty, dark locker room. I'd been sitting in the same spot for… who knows how long now. My boots were off, as was my uniform shirt and belt, my hair loosened from the tight French braid I had woven it into after my shower. I glanced up, didn't bother smiling, he knew me too well for that. Instead he kept talking and sat beside me, just far enough away.

"I never understood it, especially not after the accident. I still don't but maybe… maybe there was a reason." His voice cracked and I squeezed my eyes shut tight until flashes danced behind my lids and they started to ache, brightly colored spots quickly replaced by a bright blinding light as I opened them, so similar to the sun streaming through the windows this morning and yet as different as life and death. I had tried, futilely to recapture that feeling of lightness, and hope, the elusive joy of that second but it was hopeless. Instead of searching for the light, I rested my head on my partners shoulder and gave in, for just a moment, to the darkness.


	3. So Tell Me How It Should Be

**What I own: Three of Missy's movies on DVD, a half a jar of Rock And Roll Red hair dye and almost a puppy.**

**What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine.**

**Author's Note: This was written as an entry for the FanFicaholics Anon July drabble challenge but converted to a series because that is what my mind does. It has nothing to do with any of my current WIPs but I saw the prompt and couldn't get it out of my head. I MIGHT have said it wasn't gonna go here… but it did. I'm not even sorry. Y'all know I am a McSwarek girl for life but this just kind of… happened. I blame Peter Mooney and his pretty face. There will be ramifications. And no, to address all the questions, this is NOT following season five but more… inspired by it. I know it is vague, that is kind of my MO… maybe I'll explain, maybe I won't, I don't know but the important thing is that they spoke to me. This is canon, in a sense that it isn't horribly NON-CANON, as it were. It just mixes up canon. Also not beta'd because I am impatient. The song, because that is how I do, is 'The Diary of Jane' by Breaking Benjamin. Turn it up as loud as you can while you read. Just trust me. Thanks for reading y'all. Feel free to ask any questions here or on twitter, I like to answer them. Reviews will be cherished and rewarded with babble, love and sneak peaks of whatever fic you choose, cause I know this one won;t float everybody's boat, as it were. They also make me write faster, so there is that. Thank you again y'all, so much. **

Everybody deals with grief in their own way, whatever works for them. Tears, stoicism, shock, silence, hell, even yelling. We saw it all today, at some point, in some way. On the stony faces of our co-workers, the tear streaked face of a mother as she rested her hand on the coffin of her last child, the slamming of a locker door, sobbing in the woods while avoiding dry sandwiches and whispered words of condolence and sorrow at the repass. We all had our own methods.

The drive back to my house had been quiet, as had the walk through the woods back to the car, save for the thunder and the rain pelting the windows. The tires slowed on the slick pavement and I finally turned, tugging my gaze away from the view of the storm.

"You should come up and get dried off, you'll catch your d-" I trailed off, the words that had almost been automatic for so long taking on a very real and very macabre meaning. He didn't answer, save for a nod and turned the keys, the idling engine silencing.

The quiet continued as we headed up the stairs, boots heavy on the wood and rainwater dripping into puddles on the floor as we entered my cold apartment. The lock snicked shut and suddenly it was all TOO quiet. It made it so real, and final. Shaking my head, strands of hair plastered, unmoving against my neck, I crossed to the stereo and flipped it on, not bothering to even glance at the selection. I turned the volume up as loud as I could manage as the first notes rang through the air and glanced over at Nick as he shrugged out of his drenched leather jacket. His head was down, but I could still see the pain etched on his face.

I knew that pain, that expression because it matched mine, it matched everyone's today, no matter how hard we all tried to hide it. And we did try. I pushed it so far down, trying so hard to make things seem okay that I didn't feel anything, not at all. I was hollow.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I listened for a moment to the sounds of the storm raging outside, the pelting rain and thunder nearly drowned out by the music. And suddenly I needed to feel something, I had to.

Shrugging my own jacket off, I tossed it absently aside and crossed the living room in one, two, three strides and I was standing in front of him, tilting my head to meet his eyes. I swallowed hard at what I saw there, the emptiness that I knew so well, and dropped my gaze, rested my hand gently on his chest. I could feel his heart beating beneath the wet cotton, the warmth of his skin somehow seeping through the chilled fabric. I barely heard the inhale as I moved my fingers, it was so quiet. Fingers brushed against my cheek, brushing back a stray lock of dripping hair and I glanced up, gasping at the flash of lust in his eyes. I knew what it was, it didn't take much to figure it out. It was something, a feeling, more than emptiness. There were consequences, of course but they didn't matter, not in that moment.

Everything fell away, the emptiness, the grief, the pain, as our lips met, frenzied and needy and we found the only solace that we could in that moment as the music flowed and the storm raged on.


	4. All I Have In My Hands

**What I Own: A copy of Vitamin String Quartet's tribute to MCR, nearly pink hair and a pair of over the knee flat brown boots.**

**What I Don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine. SURPRISE!**

**Author's Note: Well. This wasn't supposed to happen. But it did because my muse is an elegant, cold-hearted whore and she likes to make me do things to alienate my beautiful readers that I love to death. So this… yeah. It isn't happy, not at all really and I have no idea where it is going. It breaks my feels. It is McCollins, feel free to not read. That is your choice but I would love it if you'd stick around. This isn't beta'd because that is pretty much how I roll. The song for this chapter is 'Me and My Charms' by Kristin Hersh, specifically the strings version. It gives me chills. The song for the whole story is Sweet Talk Radio's cover of 'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.' Check it out, it is amazing. Reviews make me smile like Missy in Maui and are rewarded with babble, praise and sneak peeks of a story of your choice cause I know this isn't all y'alls cup of vodka. Questions, comments and song suggestions are more than welcome via PM or on Twitter, I am a big lurker lately but I love talking with all y'all. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Happy reading and I hope you enjoy. **

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be anywhere right now except for my own bed, asleep.

But I'm not.

I was, but it was brief. The moments of darkness were fractured by haunting images, flashes of red and blue, wide, empty eyes and tears. And screams. Can't forget those. They were all so real that I could almost feel the warmth, hear the echoes in my ears.

Then again, that is because they were. In the three weeks since the funeral, I had averaged maybe four hours of sleep a night, broken and interspersed with the nightmares. Every. Single. Night. Except for that first one. That night I slept dreamlessly.

Sometimes they were worse than others, of course. Tonight though, tonight was the worst. My throat ached from the screams. I'd tried to get back to sleep but it didn't work, it never did. So I left.

Three AM and I am standing outside the door, dripping wet and freezing, listening to the soft music that floats through the door. I'm not knocking, though I don't know why. Maybe he'll just magically know I'm here?

I don't even know how I ended up here I just… did. I have no clue what I was hoping for as I stood in the dim porch light, shifting back and forth nervously in my soaked trainers that had suddenly become interesting.

The door opened and I jerked my head up to meet familiar brown eyes. They were haunted, the dark, bruise-like circles matching my own, the ones that not even a heavy hand with cover-up could hide.

"I couldn't sleep." My voice was slightly hoarse, and my throat burned from the screams that had woken me.

He didn't say anything, just nodded and stepped back in a silent invitation, which I took. I could feel his eyes on me after he shut the door and I glanced back at him while I toed off my shoes and stripped my sopping hoodie over my head, shrugging as he leaned against the door.

"It's raining." The words were simple and overwhelmingly obvious, the first thing to spring to mind and I saw just a hint of a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

"I'll get you something you can change into, maybe a warm sho-" His voice trailed off as I plopped to the hardwood floor, tugging on my wet socks and tank and adding them to the pile of wet clothes. Whatever the opposite of gracefully was? That was what I was.

I wasn't modest, never really had been, and saw very little point in it, especially with someone who had already seen you naked. He was, as always, a gentleman and dropped his eyes as I stood, shimmying out of my wet yoga pants and kicking them aside.

"I haven't really slept since the funeral." My voice wavered and my eyes stung as the memories came rushing back, as though they weren't always there just waiting. I didn't have the strength to fight them, not anymore, and I felt a tear slide down my cheek. "Help me sleep?" The words were small, almost a whisper, although the meaning behind them was clear and I watched as it registered in his eyes.

He looked hesitant, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and glancing down at the wet mess on his pristine floor. "Andy, I-"

"Please?" I did whisper this time, a nearly silent plea as another tear joined the first and I was quickly wrapped in strong warm arms, quiet words whispered into my damp hair.

"Anything."


	5. Must Be Your Skin I'm Sinking In

**What I Own: A bowl strictly used for soup (and sometimes ice cream), three Starbucks travel mugs and a ridiculous amount of K-cups. **

**What I Don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, that's right. Not mine. **

**Author's Note: Well, this happened. It kind of came to me when I was attempting to fall asleep and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. This is kind of, sort of in order, though there will be very little fluff. Not beta'd because I am impatient and do what I want. I know this isn't everyone's cup of vodka, what with McCollins and all, but I kind of dig it. Also? Gail and Luke and Traci and Steve. I LIKE TO HAVE FUN, OKAY? Your reviews and alerts will be rewarded with sneak peeks of the stories of your choosing and extensive babble and praise. Seriously, reviews make me smile like Missy in Maui. It's true. ANYWAY! The song for this chapter is Glycerine by Bush because hi, have you heard it? Yeah. If you are interested in Andy's dress, feel free to google Jenny Packham teal dress and I am SURE you will see it. Kate Middleton does it justice. This one is for Janeycakes because all kinds of reasons. Rated M for fucking language and adult situations. If you can't buy smokes or serve in the armed forces, you can just go away right now. Happy reading y'all, I hope you enjoy. **

The wedding had been nothing short of breathtaking. Elegant and perfect in nearly every way, nothing less than what would be expected for a Peck. I could practically see Superintendent Peck seething when Gail chose to skip the obviously prewritten vows in exchange for a touching, slightly rambling, off the top of her head spiel that was just… so very Gail. Traci and I, somehow, managed to keep our composure as we stood to Gail's right, although I know it took an incredible amount of willpower not to laugh when our blonde friend charmingly referred to her now husband as 'Detective Douchebag.' I am fairly certain it was only the glare form the immaculately coiffed Superintendent sitting in the front row that kept us calm.

As joyous of an occasion as the wedding was, there was still a bit of a sense of melancholy about it, not always but certain moments, the absence of two of our own was nearly palpable. Luke, of all people, managed to give a shockingly eloquent toast about absent loved ones and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Except, perhaps, for the parents Peck but at this point I was pretty sure that removal of tear ducts was part of the requirements for rising up in the TPS ranks as quickly as they did.

The alcohol had flowed freely for the last hour and the heat generated by nearly two hundred bodies combined with the champagne I'd drank had me more than a bit flushed.

Catching Traci's eye from across the room, I gave a small wave before slipping out the back door of the inn. The ocean air was cool on my skin and I shivered as I headed down the path towards the now darkened gazebo next to the clearing where the ceremony had taken place.

It was dark now, save for the twinkling of the lights that sparkled in the windows of the building down the path and the bright, white light of the moon that shone serenely down on the ocean below.

My heels clicked on the wooden floor as I crossed to the edge of the gazebo closest to the ocean, closing my eyes as I focused on the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below instead of the familiar, slightly haunting music that was barely audible through the open windows.

"Andy." The word was barely a whisper, and I spun around, eyes wide. I hadn't seen Nick come out here, come to think of it, I had barely seen him at all since the ceremony. Hell, we hadn't seen each other aside from work for nearly a month, not since I'd shown up near tears on his doorstep and practically begged him to sleep with me. At least that was what it seemed like in hindsight. The memory sent a chill down my spine and I tugged my essentially useless wrap tighter around my shoulders as I fought to find my words, my throat gone suddenly dry as images flashed through my mind.

"Nick. It's been... you look good." I felt my cheeks flush despite the cool ocean breeze and my ridiculous babble was rewarded with an almost blinding smile. It was true, he really did look good, black shirt, immaculately cut black suit and a teal tie which was more than a bit odd, but I didn't question. In essence, he looked… perfect and my fingers itched to slide through his hair.

"You look more than good, McNally. That color suits you." I could feel his eyes trailing over me and, once again mentally cursed. Gail, being Gail, had been very picky about the dresses that her attendants wore and the teal silk and lace confections were absolutely stunning.

"Thank you, it's all Gail's doing." Dropping my head slightly, I brushed at an imaginary piece of lint on my skirt as though removing it was a life or death decision right now. I froze, however, as familiar fingers brushed, ever so gently across my cheek and tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet warm brown eyes that flickered with… desire? My tongue darted out over dry lips moments before Nick's arm tightened around my waist pulling me tightly to him as our lips met. My gasp was muffled against his mouth and my arms twined, almost instinctively around his neck, my fingers sliding, finally, into his hair.

The kiss was intense and passionate, fueled by not only alcohol and the night, but also an undercurrent of need, of thinly veiled desire. I allowed myself to be led to the far corner of the gazebo, and it was there, drenched in shadows, I felt familiar lips trail down my throat and fingers brush across the lace tops of my stockings as the hem of my dress inched closer towards my waist, a quiet groan vibrating against the heated skin of my neck.

I couldn't stop him, nor did I want to, as I shifted my hips towards his hand, gasping as I squirmed for much needed contact.

He froze, lifting his head to meet my eyes, calloused fingers gently brushing over my cheek.

"You sure, Pretty Girl?" The words were husky and low, sending a chill of anticipation racing down my spine.

I didn't think, it wasn't needed. I just felt, lost in the moment, in the feelings that coursed through me as I nodded.

"Yes." A single word, one little syllable was all it took and his lips were back on mine, hands sliding over skin and silk. Everything else slipped away: the night, the memories, the soft tinkling laughter of our friends mingling with the delicate music just yards away and we lost ourselves easily in each other.


	6. I Turn To Wax And Melt Like This

**What I Own: Hair the color of a sunset, 10 cardigans and at least ten pairs of glitter covered heels.**

**What I don't: Rookie Blue. Yeah, no, it isn't mine. This amazing creation belongs to Tassie Cameron, et al. I just play in her sandbox, as it were. I promise to clean everyone up when I am done. **

**Author's Note: So, yeah. This wasn't supposed to happen, it just did. You all know the drill. There was music, and a flash and just… yup, hi drabble. That is pretty much how it goes. Yes, this is McCollins. I blame Peter Mooney because that face. Who gave him the right? ANYWAY. This is so far from canon it isn't funny and yet not totally uncanon… at some point at least. You all know how I work: disjointed snippets, loosely connected, blah, blah, blah weddingcakes. (See what I did there?). This isn't happy, not yet, not at all, although I like to think it isn't all sad at all. But tell me what you think… Reviews will be rewarded with praise and babble, and possible sneak peeks of upcoming chapters, maybe a song teaser… something. I don't know. At the very least, gushing thanks and all kinds of love in a PM. I appreciate each and every review and alert I get, seriously. This little series, as with all my work, is rated M for adult situations, drinking and fucking language. If you can't buy smokes or vote where you live, head on out. Anyway, without further babble, here we go. The song for this chapter is 'BTSK' by MS MR. Turn it up LOUD when you start. Questions? Comments? Song suggestions? PM or find me on twitter. Thanks again y'all, you are beautiful. **

The sky was covered with a smoky, lavender grey haze that rolled in off the ocean, the heavy dark clouds hanging low over the horizon.

I could see the sun, just barely in the distance, a glimmering orange shimmer that seemed like it would never be fully realized through the impending storm, it just barely glinted of the dark water like a tease.

It was early, very, the blue lights on the unfamiliar clock had pried through the last bit of sleep that I'd gotten. I had slipped out of the large, soft bed, carefully removing the strong arm that was draped over my waist and receiving a mumble of protest from my still sleeping companion.

The room was unfamiliar and it took me a moment to get my bearings as the events of the prior night came flashing back in disjointed images: Music, Gail and Luke's wedding, champagne, a gazebo, a teal silk tie, strong, capable hands un-securing each tiny button that trailed along my spine as I melted.

Tiptoeing across the plush carpet, I grabbed the hastily discarded dress shirt, shrugging into the oversize garment and just inhaling for a moment as I came to my senses, the last of the sleep and champagne stupor floating away.

Glancing over my shoulder, I watched him for a moment, the dim clock light shining on his chiseled jaw, overnight scruff barely visible from where I stood.

Memories of stolen moments flickered through my mind, sending heat rushing up my neck and into my cheeks: that scruff just this side of stinging as it scratched along the sensitive skin of my shoulder, low growls interspersed with murmured endearments and whispered pretty, filthy words against my ear. My wrists captured easily in one hand as I writhed, begging silently for more, please, again, don't stop even as the lasts trains of music floated from the ballroom downstairs.

Shaking my head, I physically brushed the memories aside and crossed to the French doors of the small balcony, very carefully pulling them open and slipping out into the pre-dawn.

The air was chilly and wet, though not unpleasant, although a part of me wished it was. I wanted to be cold, to shiver for a reason other than anticipation or pleasure. The feel of the coming storm hung heavy around me and I leaned my elbows on the railing and shook my head softly, the breeze catching the ends of my disheveled hair and whipping them in front of my eyes, blocking my view as a bright white bolt of lightning flashed somewhere off in the distance and the thunder rolled ominously overhead.

The arm around my waist didn't startle me, though it should have. Instead, I leaned back against Nick's familiar form, my eyes drifting closed as he hummed against my hair, the tangles still heavy with hairspray.

"Come back to bed Andy." It wasn't a question, nor an order but rather a suggestion, heavy and husky with sleep. There was that shiver again, and his fingers easily intertwined with mine, squeezing my hand softly. I tilted my head and stubble rasped against my cheek, the slight scratching bringing a smile to my lips.

"It's going to storm again." My words were barely audible, another crash of thunder echoing overhead just before our lips met and I was gently pulled inside, heavy raindrops spattering against the back of my purloined shirt as the sky opened up and the deluge began.


	7. You Turn Me Over, Alright

**What I Own: Random seasons of Once Upon A Time, Castle and House on DVD, a bunch of sour grapes (literally), and some new, bottle brunette(ish) hair. **

**What I Don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, STILL not mine. I know. I KNOW. Tassie Cameron, et al., own this delightful show, I just play in their sandboxes. I promise, I'll clean them up when I am done. Mostly. **

**Author's Note: Well, here we are again. More of this little tale. I don't know, I can't explain, it just happened. I blame Peter Mooney. That face though, who gave him the right? There was music, and I was gonna do words and Luke was involved and then, somehow, this just… poofed itself into existence. You all know my usual disclaimers: Not betaed, all mistakes are mine, if you can't buy porn or cigs, head on away. That being said, this is STILL not a McSwarek story and it won't be. HOWEVER I refuse to just pretend Sam doesn't exist, and kind of attempted to explore that dynamic here. Reviews make me grin like Missy in Maui, I love them. HOWEVER, lectures about what the actual writers did wrong or why I am a disgrace to McSwarek shippers and Nick is horrible can be saved. I still ship McSwarek, just not in this story. And no, to get it out of the way, Sam is NOT a bad guy here. Read between the lines. ANYWAY, as always for this story, this is for Janeycakes because reasons. The song for this chapter is 'Early Winter' by Keane. Turn it up loud and let me know what you think. Reviews are love and I'll be happy to answer any and all questions, comments or suggestions in PMs or on twitter. Much love y'all, and thank you. **

It was cold. Not freezing, but cold. Barely mid-September and there was a noticeable chill in the air. Then again, the fact that I'd been wearing an outfit that Miley Cyrus would have deemed trashy may have had something to do with my hands shaking.

A medic draped a scratchy blanket over my shoulders bare shoulders, the remnants of a tacky leopard print top barely staying up, and I gave her a meek smile, wincing at the pain that shot through my head at the slight movement. My palms were freshly wrapped in bright white gauze, the shards of glass having been meticulously removed.

Apparently, being hit in the head was becoming something of an area of expertise with me. I'd learned after the first few times the subtle differences between just a fuck ton of pain and a concussion. It seemed like I had lucked out today.

"McNally!" The voice was worried and familiar, though not at all the one I had expected, and strangely not the one I'd hoped. Brushing the protesting medic aside, I clutched my itchy cotton shroud around me, the heels of my ridiculous hooker boots clicking on the crack pavement.

"Did you get him Detective?" My voice was flat, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. I was tired and I hurt, physically, emotionally, whatever. The LAST thing I wanted to do was to stand in-front of my ex-boyfriend and answer questions.

"We did. We need you to come down to the station, answer some questions, if you're up for it." His hands were shoved in his pockets and he was all brusque and business but I could hear something, just the slightest catch in his voice. I'd known Sam Swarek long enough to pick up on his tells.

"Yeah, sure, I'm fine." My voice sounded hollow and false, even to me, although Sam didn't seem to recognize it, and if he did, he didn't say anything.

"Okay, let's go. I'll give you-" He was cut off, mid-sentence, bye the last person I think either of us expected to hear.

"She's not fine, and she's not going to the station." I hadn't even heard Collins approach, although the slight ringing in my ears may have had more than a little to do with that.

"I'm sorry?" Swarek sounded incredulous and offended at the same time and I just stared at Nick. It wasn't like him to blatantly stand up to someone who outranked him but I'd learned more than I had imagined about my fellow officer over the last few months. Stolen moments, solace and a surprising, if welcome quiet that, for some reason, I could only find when he was around.

"She isn't in any shape to answer questions right now, Detective, you of all people should know that." The emphasis was subtle but there, and my eyes darted between the two men. If I'd been in some kind of twisted Lifetime movie, this was where the piano heavy, plaintive theme song would kick in.

"I'm sorry Officer Collins, I think perhaps McNally knows herself a little better than you do." Again, the emphasis on rank was blatant. He was worried, I could tell, but he was also defensive, very, and that never ended well.

"Stop." My voice was weak, and wavering. I was cold, I ached down to the bone and whatever painkiller my friend the medic had given me was starting to make me feel nauseous and lightheaded. "I need to go home." Taking a deep breath, I raised my head to meet Swarek's gaze. "Tomorrow. I'll call you and we can talk about the questions."

I waited for the small nod, knowing from experience I wasn't going to get more than that, and offered a small smile in thanks. I turned slowly, my steps slightly unsteady, knees wobbling in the absurd hooker boots.

"Take me home?" It was barely a whisper and I received a smile in response and an arm around my shoulders, supporting a surprising amount of my weight, but still letting me stand on my own.


	8. Things Get All Mixed Up Inside My Brain

**What I own: Two pens with feathers randomly attached to them, four pink journals and five phone chargers.**

**What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine. I just play in that sandbox.**

**Author's Note: Well, this happened. I have no idea why and I am still not sure if I like it, but I am at work, sick and miserable and the song came on and it just… did. McCollins, y'all, as this fic is always. Unbeta'd because that is just how I am. Reviews make me smile like Missy in Maui and are rewarded with babble and love. Constructive criticism is more than welcome but just general meanness is unnecessary. I understand that an AU fic may not be everyone's cup of vodka, and that is okay. Just don't read it. The song for this chapter is 'Falling In Love Will Kill you' by Wrongchilde ft. Gerard Way. It gives me feels. Enjoy y'all.**

The knock didn't startle me, not really, although it probably should have.

It was late, the clock above the black TV read 1:34 and I wasn't expecting anyone. The music was low, almost hypnotizing and a hastily tossed aside worn copy of 'Anne of Green Gables' sat beside a mostly untouched glass of Moscato and a long since empty plate on the low coffee table.

I knew who it was already, without having to look, although I did anyway, call it habit, I guess. There was really only one person these days who showed up at this hour, although the reasons were never the same.

Pulling the door open, I stepped back to allow him in, as had become our custom. He walked in, head down and I paused after the door snicked shut. Something was… off. I couldn't put my finger on it, not quite yet.

Shoes were toed off and black leather hung absently on the coat rack, all without a word.

I didn't push, wouldn't, not now. The last six months had been a whirlwind of emotions, spanning the gamut from grief to elation, all of which we had somehow dealt with together during stolen moments and the easy solace that had somehow developed between us.

Not bothering to ask, I padded into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, setting it down before plopping on the couch beside him, my legs tucked beneath me as rested a hand on his arm.

The movement was gentle, but his head snapped up and I met his eyes and gasped. The pain that I saw there, the hurt that was etched on his face had my own heart skipping a beat and I struggled for a moment to find my words, my throat gone dry.

"Tell me?" My voice cracked as the words slipped from my lips and mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the next, all centered around familiar loved faces and a myriad of tragedies that could have taken place.

"It's not- everything's okay. It was just a really bad day. Really bad." His voice was so tired, almost defeated; it physically hurt to hear it. Not thinking, I gave him a gentle pull, sliding towards the end of the couch just a bit and resting his head on my lap. He didn't protest, and sighed softly as I gently ran my fingers through his short hair and his hand rested on my bare knee.

We sat there, quietly just taking comfort in each other's presence, the comfort and trust that had developed having long since eased any possible awkwardness that may have arisen had it been anyone else.

He was asleep quickly and I couldn't help but smile as I glanced down at his face. His features had softened with sleep, the pain melting away and just a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he dreamed of who knows what, and he looked younger, nearly boyish in the dim lamplight as he whispered my name in his sleep.

I knew, in that moment, with just one barely audible word that there was no turning back from this, not that I knew exactly what this WAS, but in that second I didn't need to.

I was falling in love.


End file.
